


The Earl(ess) of Sandwich

by hawkeyed



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Darcy will 'go into the kitchen and make you a sandwich', F/M, Food food and more food, Gratuitous amounts of cheese, Lunch is the best meal of the day, Sandwich making, but only because she really likes to and it'll be so good that you will likely be reduced to tears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeyed/pseuds/hawkeyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or five times Darcy makes lunch and works her way into Clint's heart through his stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The John Wayne

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how this happened??? All I can say - apart from hi, this is my first piece! - is that I get really emotional when it comes to Clint and Darcy. And sandwiches. But mostly (probably) Clint and Darcy.

"Where the _hell_ did you get this, Lewis?"

Darcy snorted and brought the knee of her tattered jeans up underneath her chin, absentmindedly browsing the latest updates on her Facebook newsfeed via Starkphone. Liking several pictures of her cousin Lucy's new adorable Australian Shepperd puppy that totally tipped off the Awwww!scale (followed by a considerably less cute snapshot of her middle school BFF's newborn - _Trixie Rose, r_ _eally?_ ), she gingerly spun back and forth in her desk chair while Clint let out a disturbingly satisfied moan at the table next to her. She silently praised herself on her craft, but almost felt sorry for the guy.

Sort of.

A little bit.

Okay, so not even remotely.

Proud as hell? Yeah, that's what it was.  
  
Stopping by only to drop off some kind of 'top-secret private-eyes much-clearance' file from Coulson, Clint hadn't realized that Jane had long since ran off in the whirlwind name of science, muttering something about microwaves and electrowhathaveyous, leaving the lab relatively unattended for the afternoon. And when he accepted her offer of Jane's untouched lunch for his troubles? Well, let's just say Dacy was 99% sure those were tears in his eyes.  
  
It was a very particular art form, no doubt. Particular and exquisite. Something that not all hands were capable of doing and doing well. It required imagination, steady hands, a cultured palate more than anything. Oh yes, the boss lady may have a complete monopoly in the field that is astrophysics and the record for biggest brain in tiniest body, but sandwich making? That was Darcy's ridiculously delicious specialty, and today's lunch was truly a mesquite wood smoked turkey, extra aged, extra melty, white sharp cheddar cheese filled masterpiece. Add a precise amount of mayo on top of two pieces of ciabatta bread toasted to perfection, some finely chopped red onion (don't even think about the white ones seriously), a dash of oregano, bit of lettuce here, couple of dill pickles and diced tomato there, glorious amounts of grated parmesan, liberally coated with one part oil, two parts vinegar, and you've got yourself the John Wayne. Well, more or less, anyways. It was Darcy's hands that held (ie, fiercely guarded) the real secrets, along with a handful of other creations she'd take to her grave. And damn, did they all live up to their namesakes.  
  
"Get? Are you kidding me, Barton? That's an original, and Jane will kill me if she finds out she missed it, so you better dispose of all the evidence."  
  
"You made this?" he managed between bites. "No stops by Sullivan's on your way in? You do know I can pull security cam feeds and financial records in like three seconds flat, right?"  
  
"Don't sound so surprised, dude. I got layers."  
  
"Apparently."  
  
"Besides, Sully's got nothing on my skills. Apart from being an insanely sexist douchebag, I saw him put tartar sauce on a French Dip once, it was a travesty," she groaned, still appalled. "I don't endorse him or his methods."  
  
"Noted."  
  
"For realsies, though. I know it's heavenly and has the ability to make grown men weep with joy and what not, but try to keep it on the down low, yeah? I've moved up in the world from unpaid intern to a bonafide assistant, but I still have bills to pay when I'm not spending half my income on cheese." Clint shook his head slightly, confused, enamored, happily lost to the out of body experience his mouth was having. "Seriously, it's a major problem. Kerrygold Reserve might be the death of me."  
  
"I think you missed your calling, kid."  
  
"Yeah, that's what I hear. But political science," she waved her hand. "Bettering the world, all that good stuff. You should know, you answered the ad."  
  
"Pretty sure this covers it."  
  
Darcy grinned. It was a hell of a thing to hear coming from an Avenger, and not just because she had a terrible thing for archers. At least, that's what she told herself, snapping a faceless, objectifying photo or three for her Instragram account.  
  
 **tasercakes** \- 2 minutes ago  
 _#dontmindme #johnwayneclaimsanother #demarms #dudeiscut #workproblems #moveoveroliverqueen  
_


	2. The Al Capone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a bajillion percent floored by all the love thus far. Thank you so much!

_[c.barton @ 12:13pm]_ Past 12 already.  
 _[c.barton @ 12:13pm]_ Midday.  
 _[c.barton @ 12:13pm]_     The afternoon.  
 _[c.barton @ 12:14pm]_     Lunch time, I think it's called.  
  
 _[d.lewis @  12:15pm]_       Remarkable subtleness, Big Bird.  
 _[d.lewis @ 12:15pm]_ Truly, I can see why you're a top SHIELD asset.  
  
 _[c.barton @ 12:15pm]_     What's with the hostility?  
 _[c.barton @ 12:15pm]_ Can't a guy make conversation with his favorite scientist wrangler?  
  
 _[d.lewis @ 12:16pm]_        Please. I'm pretty sure I can hear your stomach growling from here.  
  
 _[c.barton @ 12:16pm]_ Lobby in 10. I'm buying.  
  
 _[d.lewis @ 12:17pm]_       This is a professional work place, Agent.  
 _[d.lewis @ 12:17pm]_        Can't be expected to just drop what I'm doing because you want to get something to eat.  
  
 _[c.barton @12:18pm]_       Professional work place? You've been playing Flappy Bird for like 45 minutes.  
 _[c.barton @ 12:18pm]_ Only a 26 high score though?  
 _[c.barton @ 12:19pm]_      I'm up to 107.  
  
 _[d.lewis @ 12:19pm]_ BARTON.  
 _[d.lewis @ 12:19pm]_        ARE YOU CRAWLING THROUGH THE VENTS RIGHT NOW???  
  
 _[c.barton @ 12:19pm]_     10 minutes, girlie. Tick tock.

 

* * *

 

Poking him in the side with her fork for hovering too closely, Clint reluctantly took a seat at the kitchen island on the Avengers community floor in Stark Tower and observed Darcy from afar, obnoxious Cosby sweater and all, as she worked her methodical magic on several pieces of Italian bread with an herb and olive oil crust they had picked up on their grocery run.  
  
The Al Capone, Darcy had dubbed it, was a force to be reckoned with, packed with slices of a lightly smoked Black Forest ham, Genoa salami, and zesty pepperoni, each covered with a more than generous amount of a sharp Picante provolone. Lightly dabbing a mix of yellow and honey mustard on the small mountain of meats piled together, she worked systematically without a word until Clint's stare starting burning holes into the side of her head. She tossed string of green pepper at his forehead before he dodged effortlessly out of the way, without so much as a blink.  
  
"This isn't the Food Network, man. You're throwing off my groove."  
  
"Just watching the master at work," he smiled, hands out in a feign defense.  
  
"What you need to watch is the door for intruders. Cap will eat four of these alone and I want leftovers." Six, Darcy figured, if he was on his way back from sparring with Natasha at the gym, and that truly was no exaggeration. One time, during a Tony-sponsored and dubbed 'After Disaster' dinner for a day complete with what can only be described as squidbots rising from the Hudson River, she watched, mesmerized, as he put away nine gyros at Anthea's while asking her the basics behind Y2K, Avatar, and Hermione Granger. And Thor? The ravenous beast that lived inside him was a whole nother story, and damn did Dacy envied them both. Apart from the whole being responsible for the fate of the free world thing, and the serious personal traumas, they could put away a week's worth of groceries in one sitting without gaining a pound.  
  
Retreating back an inch or two to give Darcy some space, Clint picked up one of the near empty deli bags smelled the contents. He looked pleased with the purchase as he tossed it back on the counter, several more pieces disappearing.  
  
"13.29$ a pound for this? You weren't kidding about your cheese problem, were you?"  
  
"I never kid about cheese, Barton. Rule number one."  
  
"And rule number two?"  
  
"Death before fat-free."  
  
"A girl after my own heart," he toasted to Darcy with a bottle of water. The dopey look on his face as he waited for her to reciprocate left her feeling much too satisfied and the snarky retort on tap was all but forgotten. She grabbed her pineapple smoothie next to Stark's blatantly Iron-Man-red KitchenAid mixer (which she'd bet her monthly coffee salary on that he'd never even touched, let alone knew he had) and obliged him.  
  
"Cheers."  
  
Attempting to ignore the burning in her cheeks and his very visible biceps that she was pretty sure were calling her name, Darcy handed Clint a plate of her finished product, leaving them to dine together side by side.  
  
"So stop holding out on me. How the hell did you manage a 107 on Flappy Bird?"


	3. The Frida Kahlo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but writing this story on my iPad has been a serious pain in the butt, so hello from my new laptop! Thanks for baring with me, you guys are fab and I love you.

Darcy glanced at the clock above the fireplace and cringed.  
  
11:47pm and still not a word from anyone. About anything.

She could feel her sanity definitely beginning to waiver as hour seven of radio silence approached.

It's not that it was unusual, or that she expected to be kept completely in the loop per say. These were serious special-op 'if I told you then I'd have to kill you' government matters, after all, but she and Jane had been living in the tower for over nine months now. She had inadvertently seen Tony naked on more than one occasion, watched every classic Disney film with Steve and even conned him into a Walking Dead marathon, and let's not forget the mandatory and standing Thursday evening Cards Against Humanity night she had set up. As far as she was concerned, they were practically family, so _good lord_ , would it kill somebody to send off a quick text to give her some piece of mind?  
  
 _Oh god, probably..._  
  
She willed herself to think the happiest thoughts ( _don't fail me now, puppy in Triceratops costume!_ ) and hunkered down in the tower's living area with Jane as they cracked open a much needed bottle of their go-to-crisis Cupcake chardonnay and waited.  
  
"I'm sure they're alright," Jane told her adamantly, finishing up her second glass. "They're probably just wrapping up loose ends."  
  
And waited.  
  
"I mean, I think I'd be the first person they'd tell if something happened to Thor, right?"  
  
AND WAITED.  
  
"They're going tell me this whole never happened and have me committed, aren't they? No, I'm serious, Darcy. They stole your iPod, don't forget what they're capable of."  
  
As the night drudged on, they sat connected at the hip, huddled under her favorite handmade quilt she brought back with her from New Mexico, and let spill more than a few tears of a couple episodes of Say Yes to the Dress before Jarvis let slip in guilt that the team was in Louisiana of all places. Jane was a trooper and tried to stick it out for the long haul, but fell asleep halfway through Hoarders, snoring like a monster truck on her shoulder, leaving Darcy to carry (scratch that - drag) her to bed.

Three cups of hot chocolate later, just after four in the morning, when Family Feud started on the Game Show Network, Clint finally came limping in, alone. She practically flew out of her seat, empty and forgotten Hufflepuff mug falling to carpet.  
  
"Darce?"  
  
"Are you okay? Is everybody good?" He came closer, slowly, as she took a visual inventory as quick as possible.  
  
"Everybody's fine. I'm fine. We're good."  
  
At a glance, she noted all ten fingers were where they should be, giving her a slight relief. Two arms, two legs, each accounted for as well, but god, the bruises. She felt her stomach turn as he fell in a heap where she had been sitting. The gnarly gash that ran down the length of his arm, already neatly stitched up but still oozing, nearly made her lose it.  
  
"Really, it's not as bad as it looks. Medical already cleared me. You should go get some sleep, it's late. Or, early, I guess."  
  
"Stop doing the brain ninja thing. It's an invasion of privacy." He mustered a smile and put his feet up on the coffee table, closing his eyes with a struggled sigh. It was a torturous thing to witness. He legitimately looked like he fell off of a building.  
  
"Occupational hazard, princess. You know that."

"Is there anything I can get you? Ice pack? Liquor? Have you even eaten anything today?" She fidgeted nervously with the drawstring on the shorts of her Hulk pajamas, feeling woefully out of her depth. These were superheroes she was dealing with. And what, if anything productive, did she do all week? Transcribing Jane's chicken scratch off cocktail napkins and binge watching Bob's Burgers on Netflix hardly counted for much of anything.  
  
"I think there's some leftover Thai in the fridge, you wanna split it?"  
  
"Thai sounds good. But you should know, I made a trip to the deli over on Fulton yesterday, and picked up some Salasalito Turkey and Swedish Fontina that'll blow your mind."  
  
"Don't play with my emotions, Lewis, it's been a long night. Are you seriously going to make sandwiches, because that would be amazing." She perked up a bit. This was something she could handle.  
  
"Buddy, sandwich is not even a proper word for it. It's a culinary adventure you're about to take with melted with pepperhouse gourmaise sauce, and the best sundried tomatoes and baby spinach you have ever tasted. I even sprung for the pricey sourdough." Clint gave an appreciative groan. Oh yes, the Frida Kahlo was a force to be recokoned with, and this evening, Barton deserved it, down to the very last flake of red pepper.

"Give me fifteen minutes, Hot Shot. I'll be right back." She tossed him the remote, turning to leave.  
  
"And you recorded the new Dog Cops? Oh my god, you're the best."  
  
"Don't you think for one second that means you can start without me. I won't hesitate to eat everything without you."

"You have my word," he called. "Love the pj's by the way."

Darcy forced herself to exhale as his laugh carried well outside the doorway.  
  
Yeah, she was _completely_ in the deep end.


End file.
